


When The Moon Was Overhead

by asongstress1422



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/M, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongstress1422/pseuds/asongstress1422
Summary: Bellamy is concerned that Clarke is not taking proper care of herself.i.e. Clarke and Bellamy clean tools and argue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the first round of @bellarkefanficfest on Tumblr using the prompts 'advice' and 'sleep'.  
> Updated title only, taken from The Lade of Shalott by Tennyson.

Her hair glowed in the moonlight taking on the essence unto itself. His little healing warrior swaying on her feet but forfeiting her right to sleep until the last thing on her never ending list was complete.

With a growled sigh he fully slipped from his tent and followed after the waif, not bothering to grab a shirt. He caught up to her at the sorting tables. She was quietly wiping down the harvesting knives that were left out and piling them in the basket meant for them.

“You should be in bed.”

Sleep deprived she may be, slow reflexed she was not. Quick as a whip she turned on him, knife up, face impartial.

“Oh, it’s you.” In a blink she was back to the drowsy girl mechanically cleaning tools. “I’ll head there after I finish a few more things.”

“They’ll keep til tomorrow.” He carefully eased the blade and rag out of her hands. “ _These_ will keep til tomorrow.”

She frowned, seeming confused to find her hands empty. She reached back for her tools. “No, you don’t understand. Some of the saps are killer for the metal. If they aren’t wiped down they dull just that much faster. Duller blades means more accidents. And more accidents means more treatments for me and fewer hands to work.”

“Fine. Then I’ll finish these and you go to bed.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone to finish my work.”

“Technically, this is Harvester work.” He said swiping at the blade, the tackiness of the sap tugging at the cloth.

“It’s just better if I do it. That way it’s not forgotten.” She picked up a second cloth and went on cleaning.

He frowned. “How long have you been picking up their slack? What about sleep?”

“Sleep? What’s ‘sleep?’” She joked.

“I'm serious, Clarke. You need to take better care of yourself or you’re going to burn out and then where’s that gonna leave us?”

“These things are important Bellamy and they need to get done.”

“Seeing that they get done is much different then doing it yourself. We’re in a camp with seventy-three other people. You don’t have to run yourself ragged. Delegate.”

She scoffed. “Like you do?”

“Hey, I was in bed when your scurrying woke me up. Matthew has nights and Thomas has early mornings. They’re both efficient enough not to fuck up and know when to call for backup. That’s me delegating.”

She rolled her eyes stacking the last of the knives in the basket and setting everything under the table where it belonged. “Go back to bed, Bellamy. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned and walked away.

“And where do you think you’re going.”

“I’m going to finish up another few things, like I said.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She huffed. “Goodnight.”

With a sigh that said ‘I tried,’ he caught her about the hips and slung her over his shoulder.

She let out a surprised chirp that she quickly stifled before she woke anybody. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” She whispered furiously trying to twist out of his hold.

“I’m taking you to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

“What am I, five? You don’t get to decide my bedtime, Bellamy. Let me down.” She thrashed, angrier than a wet cat. “You can’t just go picking up people to get your way.”

“It’s worked before.”

“You insufferable asshole.” She pounded each syllable on his back.

He patted her butt in a 'there,there' type of way. “I love you, too.”

She twisted around and tried to go for his eyes. Chuckling to himself he fended off her awkward attacks and ducked into her tent, dropping her on her pallet.

“Brut,” she spat glaring, crossing her arms. “Happy now, I’m in bed.”

“Scoot over.” 

“Wait, what?” She shrieked in his ear as he slipped in next to her. “Get out of my bed.”

“Stop shoving me.” He caught her in a reverse bear hug throwing a leg over hers to stop them from kicking. “I said stop. You really didn’t think I wasted all this effort just to turn around and have you slip out of here and dinker til your shift tomorrow, did you?” Her huff was answer enough. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

“I can’t with you laying on me like a two ton blanket.”

“I don’t fancy being filleted alive. I know you keep a knife under your pillow.”

“And a gun stuffed with my clothes.” She yawned.

“Smart girl.” He eased his hold slightly, yawning too. “Now go to sleep.”

He literally felt her roll her eyes, even as her body relaxed. Within four minutes she was letting out the cutest little snores. With a sigh he untangled himself.

She was stubborn. He theorized that is was her nature to follow rules and order that had her clashing with him on a personal level. Usually clear headed she would have his back most of the time, choosing his side or making a solid argument for a different, often better, arrangement.

It was only when he tried to order her directly that they ran into problems. Even when it was asinine things that she knew were in her best interest, like eating properly and _getting enough sleep_ , that usually turned into these huge yelling matches.

He was only lucky everyone was asleep or he'd have never chanced carrying her like that. The potential backlash would have been huge. As it was, come morning, he was only hoping that a good night sleep would sweeten her mood towards him.

With the final smile at her sleeping form he let himself out. He wanted to get up early the next morning before the Harvester group left the compound to gather. They were going to have some strong words, for if he have to physically carry Clarke to bed because some idiots thought that it wasn't in their job description to properly clean their tools, there would be hell to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you thought. All commits are greatly appreciated.


End file.
